


champagne fireworks

by conclusions (introductions)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fireworks, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, this takes place in australia during covid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductions/pseuds/conclusions
Summary: When Mark's New Year's Eve falls a little short, Dejun decides to cheer him up.alternatively: after a rather soul-crushing year, new year's eve offers some redemption in the form of some fireworks, some champagne, and a kiss.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	champagne fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drilbur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drilbur/gifts).



> hello hello!! if you are reading this then: welcome to xiaomark hell!! i entered here a little while ago and i don't think i'll ever leave !! xiaomark is just one of those ships that Gets Into My Brain and stays there forever except i'm not even mad i love it 
> 
> this fic is for pluto, who i blame for 99% of my crises regarding xiaojun. i love you, and i hope you like this fic!! it's my first time writing this pairing, and i hope i did them justice.

Looking back, this is not how Mark his year was going to go. Gone were his plans for camping in March, for an end-of-semester trip to New Zealand. His flight back home to Canada was canceled as borders locked down. And then he’d moved off-campus into an apartment with people he barely knew, gotten a job at the grocery store, and watched from afar as the rest of the world struggled with the pandemic. 

Australia, granted, had done a better job than most, locking down quickly and testing rapidly. Sydney, being a city, had been a little shakier than others, but as New Year’s crept ever-closer, his Facebook notifications filled with requests, the group chat he was in with his roommates, and a couple of international students. The weather is supposed to be nice, so people with access to balconies and rooftops have lost their minds a little with planning, hyping it up as the _return of partying._ He’s gotten invites to five separate _Fuck 2020_ gatherings. 

But Mark, homesick and burnt-out from the last semester, wants nothing more than to lie in his bed. They’re hours ahead of all the other countries, which means he can’t even watch the ball drop in New York. 

He clicks on the next episode of the anime he’s watching, rolling over in his bed. He hasn’t eaten dinner yet, but he hasn’t gone to the grocery store in a while and isn’t sure he has food. Maybe he’ll just order something. There’s that Chinese restaurant close that he likes. 

He can hear the front door to their apartment open, and it gets very loud very suddenly, even through the closed door of Mark’s bedroom. He can hear Lucas, his voice cutting in over everyone else’s, which means—

“Dejun!” 

Mark’s stomach swoops. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Of course he’s here, dumbass,” Mark berates himself. “He’s sociable, and he’s not depressed, and he’s one of Lucas’s best friends.” 

“Where’s Mark?” Lucas asks. 

“He’s in his room,” Renjun, one of Mark’s roommates, says. “He’s not feeling very well.” 

“I’ll go check on him,” Dejun says. There’s a knock on his door, and the light from the kitchen comes blazing into his room as it’s opened. 

Mark knows how it looks—his room is a disaster, cups stacked on the desk and dirty clothes folded over the back of the chair. Him, lying under his sheets wearing his Canadian-flag pajama pants, his hair unwashed. 

Normally, he wouldn’t be bothered. If it was Renjun or anybody else, he wouldn’t even flinch. 

But Dejun—well, he’s different. Because Mark is sort of in love with him. Just a _tiny_ bit. 

In his defense, it was very, very easy to fall in love with a guy like that. First off, he’s _hot_ , and second off, he’s friendly and sociable and warm and pulls everyone around him into a neat orbit. He listens well and is the sort of guy that girls trust to hold their drinks, walks with his arms around people’s waist and smiles in that way that makes Mark feel like he’s going to throw up—

“Hey,” Dejun says, frowning. “How’re you doing?” 

Even the way he speaks English is sort of hot. 

_I am in over my head,_ Mark thinks dizzily, because framed in the light of the kitchen, Dejun looks like he’s just stepped out of a movie with his black skinny jeans and his hair pushed back from his face like that. 

“I’m okay,” Mark manages. He sits up and regrets it, because he’s not wearing a shirt. Thank god it’s dark, because he’s positive he’s blushing all the way down to his belly button. “Just, um, tired.” 

“You’re not going out?” Dejun asks. 

“I don’t think so,” Mark says, shaking his head. “I mean, you guys are already good to go, and I haven’t eaten—” 

Dejun slides his phone out of his pocket and glances at the time. “It’s just past eight,” he says. “We’re going to be staying here for a little bit—Lucas needs to be drunker, apparently.” He looks up at Mark, eyes wide. “I mean, no pressure. I don’t want to force you if you’re tired.” 

Mark looks down at his computer screen, the anime still playing tinnily through his headphones, and back up at Dejun, whose face has gone soft, his eyes big and pleading. 

“Maybe,” Mark says. “It might be fun.” 

“It would,” Dejun encourages. “You don’t have to go for long. If you want to come back, I’ll go with you, even.” He pauses. “I’d like it if you did,” he adds, a little quieter. 

Mark’s heart does a funny stop-start thing in his chest. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll come. For a little bit.” 

Dejun’s answering smile is so bright Mark can’t find it within him to regret his decision. He’d do anything for that smile, pretty much—even change out of his Canadian flag hair and brush his teeth, which he does. He has some cup ramen and half a bag of dried mango for dinner, which makes him feel better. His friends don’t make a big deal when he comes out in normal person clothes, but they make a little extra effort to pull him into the conversation, which also helps. 

By nine, Lucas is drunk and Renjun is singing at the top of his lungs, which means they’re ready to go. There’s some fumbling for keys and phones, disconnecting from the bluetooth speaker, and then off they go. 

* * *

The weather is warm, just enough to warrant the shorts Mark’s wearing. That, and the long sleeve t-shirt he’s got on with it, were the only clean clothes left in his closet. He feels underdressed, especially compared to Dejun and some of the other people they see at the first party. 

There are more people than expected, given the whole pandemic and the new rules the government put in place, but it’s relatively civil. Mark doesn’t really know anybody but the people he came with, and they all scatter to go greet friends they haven’t seen since March. 

Everyone except for Dejun, of course, who sticks next to Mark, drinking his beer and pointing out people he recognizes. 

“—and that’s Kun, he’s also from China, I met him at the same time as Lucas,” Dejun says, pointing at a man with partially-blonde hair. “He’s really nice. I was super into him for a little while, you know.” 

Mark looks at Kun, with his glittery silver jewelry and silky button-down. Mark feels like a beach bum in comparison, with his baseball hat to cover his greasy hair. 

“He looks, uh, put together,” Mark comments, and hides his cringe with a sip of wine. 

“He is,” Dejun says. “I mean, he never looked at me twice. It was right at the beginning of the pandemic when he started dating Ten.” Dejun points at the shorter man who takes Kun’s hand. “They’re good together, though. I got over it.” 

Mark takes another sip of his wine. He can’t believe he’s drinking wine out of a _wine glass_ , not cheap beer or something terrible from a bottle. It’s not even _bad_ wine, either. But then again, this a party at nine-thirty—early by college standards—thrown by adults who all know each other and laugh and talk about getting jobs or master's degrees. 

“You don’t have to stand here with me the whole time,” Mark tells Dejun. “You can go talk with other people.” 

“But I like talking with you,” Dejun says. “You’re funny. And you don’t ask me the same question four times in a row.” 

Warmth blooms in Mark’s chest at those words, and he hides a smile behind his glass. 

Conversation flows between them for another forty-five minutes or so, until Renjun makes a break past them with a bottle of wine that _clearly_ isn’t his, laughing as Ten tries to grab his shirt. 

“Go go go!” Lucas shouts, snagging Mark and Dejun by the arms and dragging them towards the door. 

“Operation Next Party,” Mark’s other roommate Nina declares, pulling out her phone. They stop in a store so Lucas can buy another six-pack of beer, and then they’re on their way. 

The next party is completely opposite to the one they were just at— _definitely_ too many people, the lights dim and the music loud. It’s BYOB, and Mark gets a cold-ish beer from Lucas. Dejun puts his hand on Mark’s lower back as they skirt the crowd. 

“I’m not too sure about this!” Mark shouts over the music. The windows are open, but that’s about as much ventilation. “This seems sorta—” 

“Illegal?” Dejun yells back, his mouth by Mark’s ear. He dodges a girl stumbling past with an open cup. Mark jumps back, pulling closer to Dejun, whose hand is still on his lower back. It’s doing strange things to his heart, his mouth dry, as he turns to meet Dejun’s eyes—

“Abort, abort,” Renjun says, swinging by them. His bottle of wine has been opened, and he holds it above his head as they wedge their ways _back_ towards the door and into the summery night. Dejun’s hand slips from his back, and Mark feels a twinge at the loss of contact. 

An hour later, at the next party, Mark sits down on the couch, feeling his energy levels start to dip. All the walking, his friends progressively drunker and drunker after each party, is beginning to sap at him. He sips his beer, but it’s gone flat and warm, so he tilts his head back against the couch cushions and traces a mysterious stain on the ceiling. At least the lights are on here, and only fifteen or so people are spread out through the house, a good chunk of them on the balcony. 

Dejun is standing, talking to someone Mark vaguely recognizes. His face is lit up, and he’s nodding along with whatever the woman is saying, a habit Mark has noticed only recently and is continuously devastated by it. The woman says something, and Dejun laughs, his eyes crinkling. The woman laughs too, and puts her hand on his shoulder.

_He’s gay,_ Mark thinks at her, biting back a satisfied smile. _You’re wasting your time._

Sure enough, Dejun pulls away politely. His mouth shapes words Mark can’t make out, and then he’s pointing…at Mark, for some reason. Mark raises his beer in return, too tired to get up off the couch and join their conversation. The woman’s smile is bright, and she waves. A second later, Dejun is detaching from her and coming Mark’s way, sitting down right next to him and sighing. 

“I haven’t sat down in like, two hours,” Dejun says, propping the toes of his sneakers on the edge of the coffee table and sinking further into the couch. The warmth of him is steady, and it takes a lot of willpower not to lean into him. He smells nice, too. All of the men—and there haven’t been many—that Mark’s liked have smelled nice, have dressed nice, do well in school, and can make any conversation feel interesting and worthwhile. Dejun, unfortunately, is no exception to any of these. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” Mark admits. “This isn’t—” 

He stops mid-sentence, not wanting to be rude. Dejun elbows him gently, tilting his face up. “What?” he asks. “You can tell me. I won’t be offended.” 

“It’s not totally my scene,” Mark says. “I haven’t really known anybody we’ve seen.” 

Dejun makes a sympathetic noise. The crown of his head is pressed against Mark’s arm, and it’s the nicest he’s felt all evening so far. “I can’t believe it’s almost next year.” 

“It feels like it’s been March for a decade,” Mark says, and Dejun laughs. Mark feels that too, vibrating through his chest. “This has been the shittiest year ever.” 

“Tell me about it,” Dejun says. “I haven’t seen my parents since last winter break.” He says this last part quietly, somberly, like he’s remembering just how potent that particular ache is. 

“Hey,” Mark says, changing the topic, “remember when we went to the beach in July?” 

Dejun laughs, the mood shifting back to something lighter. “Yeah, you said it’d be warm—” 

“It _was_ —” 

“It was _not,_ and we almost died of hypothermia,” Dejun finishes, giggling. “Shut _up._ Not all of us can be from Canada where it snows all winter.” 

“I’m from Vancouver,” Mark says. “That doesn’t count. You’re thinking of like, Newfoundland—” 

“Isn’t that a dog breed?” Dejun interrupts, his brow furrowing. 

Mark bursts into laughter before he can help himself, and Dejun cracks a smile, warm and just for him. Mark likes him so much it feels like his heart is going to explode. But Dejun is stunning and kind and sits with his knee pulled up to his chest, coasting under his more extroverted friends until he bursts forward with humor and empathy and everything Mark loves in a person. He’s exactly Mark’s type, which is why Dejun is going to break his heart one day. Because Mark’s type is also people who don’t like him back. 

Dejun is an overachiever and puts effort into his outfits, does well in school, knows a lot of people. That kind of person never goes for people like Mark—people who only own five t-shirts or watch anime in the dark and get too emotionally invested in hockey. 

But sometimes, Dejun smiles at him like that and Mark _thinks_. He imagines, _what if he liked me back?_

Lucas appears in front of them, clapping his hands so loudly both of them startle. “GUYS!” he says, eyes glazed, smile wide and a little crazy. “Why are you sitting so close? There’s the whole couch.” 

“He’s warm,” Dejun says, patting the top of Mark’s leg. Mark feels a flush crawl up his neck, and hope Lucas is too drunk to notice it. 

“Oh. Well, we’re going,” Lucas says. “Next party! Finish your drinks! Wrap it up!” 

Nina stumbles over to them, Renjun in tow. “Are we going to—” she pauses to hiccup, ”Sarah’s house?” 

“Who the hell is Sarah?” Renjun yells. 

“My friend!” Nina yells back, and they dissolve into laughter. 

Mark lets himself be hauled off the couch with a sigh. 

“I might call an Uber and go back,” he tells Dejun on the way to their next destination. 

“No way!” Lucas says, overhearing and spinning around. “It’s almost midnight! Sarah has sparkling wine!” 

“No she doesn’t,” Nina argues. “Will you shut up about the sparkling wine? Nobody has any.” 

Lucas makes a high-pitched whiny noise, and Nina attempts to shove him into the street. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Dejun says, “if you don’t want to.” 

Mark bites his lip. It’s only about thirty minutes until midnight, but he’s tired, stone-cold sober, and his feet hurt from walking. They stop in front of their fourth party for the night, and Mark takes one look at the packed balcony, the music audible even from the street, and decides he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go,” he says quietly. 

Dejun stops, his hand hovering over Mark’s waist. “I’ll come with,” he says. “Wait here.” 

Mark opens his mouth to argue, reaching for Dejun’s sleeve, but he’s jogging towards the apartment and vanishing inside. Lucas watches him go, his mouth slightly agape, and turns to Mark. 

“Why’s he running?” 

Mark’s face is hot. “Um, I don’t know. But we’re gonna go back, I think.” 

“Aw,” Nina says, wobbling towards him on her high heels and flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, Mark Lee,” she says, her voice wavering. “You’re the best roommate a girl could ask for. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Mark says, patting her back a little awkwardly. “Have fun, okay? And text me if you need anything.” 

Nina leans back, her eyes swimming with tears, and plants a big wet kiss on his forehead. “Okay.” 

Mark can’t help but smile at her, with her drunken smile and watery blue eyes, swaying a little on her feet. “Take care of Lucas,” he tells her, and she salutes him before linking arms with Lucas and Renjun and leading them into the party. He hopes none of them get sick. 

He waits around on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes before Dejun comes bursting back out into the mild December night with a plastic grocery bag. He won’t tell Mark what he was doing in there, but takes Mark’s hand and pulls him down the street. 

“Where are we going?” Mark asks. “Both of our apartments are the other way.” 

“I want to show you something first,” Dejun says. “I know you weren’t feeling the parties, and I feel bad.” 

“S’not your fault,” Mark mumbles. “I’m sorry if I was bringing the mood down. I know I haven’t been myself recently—” 

“Hey, hey,” Dejun interrupts firmly. “You don’t need to apologize. This year has fucked us all up a little bit. You’re doing your best, Mark, and it’s okay.” 

Mark slows to a stop, Dejun’s hand slipping from his. Dejun stops too and turns to him with a frown. “Are you alright?” 

Mark, who is suddenly breathless with the urge to kiss him, can only nod. “Yeah,” he manages, choked with emotion he doesn’t particularly know how to express. “I’m good. That was just—that was really nice.” 

Dejun’s smile creases his eyes, his teeth bright in the artificial streetlight. “I mean it.” He offers his hand to Mark again, who takes it with only a beat of hesitation. Hope flutters quietly in his chest, but it’s still tucked away under a healthy dose of self-doubt and cowardice. 

They pass by half-full bars and restaurant patios, closed-up stores, a McDonalds. Mark has no idea where they’re going until Dejun stops in front of a tall, sleek high-rise apartment. 

“Not another party,” Dejun assures him before Mark can ask. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” 

The inside of the lobby is bright and empty, and Mark’s sneakers squeak as he follows Dejun across the shiny floor. The doorman looks up, looks back down, notices Dejun, and looks back up again, this time with a smile. 

Dejun greets him in Mandarin, smiling back. They have a quick conversation, Dejun bracing his forearms on the edge of the doorman’s desk. He holds up his grocery bag, points at Mark, and smiles again. The doorman’s expression turns knowing, and he slides a card over the desk. 

“Alright,” Dejun says in English, turning back to Mark. “We’re good to go.” 

“How’d you know that guy?” Mark asks as Dejun leads them towards what must be a service elevator. 

“He’s the uncle of a friend of mine,” Dejun says. “We both came from the same high school in China.” 

Dejun presses the button as Mark once again tries to wrap his head around how _extensive_ Dejun’s social network is. 

“Do you ever get tired?” Mark asks. “Of knowing so many people? Like, you’re always dressed up or going someplace and I—” He stops, wincing. “Sorry. That was sort of a dick thing to say.” 

Dejun purses his lips thoughtfully. “We’re both so far away from home,” he says. “And I needed a lot of people to help me get through that, especially in the beginning.” He pauses. “As for the going out, it’s something that a lot of my friends like. And I like dressing up, too, so it works out.” He offers Mark a small smile. “It wasn’t a dick question, by the way. I mean, we met at a party, remember?” 

“Not really,” Mark says, offering a sheepish smile. “I was pretty blacked. All I remember is—” 

“Taking off your shirt and jumping off the roof into the pool?” Dejun finishes. He’s still smiling, and Mark is going to kiss him, he’s _going_ to kiss him—

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and Dejun draws away from him. “Are you coming?” he asks, raising one dark eyebrow. Mark swallows dryly and steps in. 

“The only reason I remember the balcony jump is because I broke my ankle,” Mark says, picking up the conversation. “The first time _I_ really met _you_ was when I had that stupid boot on.” 

“Aw,” Dejun coos, brushing his fingers across Mark’s cheek and smiling. “I thought the boot was cute.” 

Mark loses his breath, his face tingling where Dejun touched him. “I looked like an idiot.” 

Dejun is still smiling. “No, you looked cute.” 

Mark can’t take this. “I did not.” 

“You did,” Dejun says, smug for a reason Mark can’t fathom. Dejun’s eyes find his, dark and inscrutable, and the air between them heats.

The elevator dings, and the city lights of Sydney stretch to greet him. 

“Oh my god,” Mark says, taking a couple of steps forward. A warm breeze ruffles his hair, and he leans against the railing, taking in the sight of it all, the network of yellow lights, the cars cruising through the streets. The water is a black expanse, the moon a pale silver reflection on its surface. There aren’t many stars out here, but the whole city stretched out like this under his fingertips is breathtaking in its own way. He turns to Dejun, who is in the middle of pulling a bottle of champagne out of the grocery bag. 

“What—huh?” Mark asks, watching him pull out two plastic cups and a bottle opener. “Is _that_ what you went in for?” 

“Yep,” Dejun says, grinning cheekily. He pops the cork on the champagne, with fizzes over all over his hand and the ground. It’s a little warm, but this is a hundred times better than anything he’s done all night. 

“I really did feel bad,” Dejun says, leaning back against the railing. “It’s easy to get caught up in Lucas’s, uh, enthusiasm.” 

“I mean, I don’t regret going,” Mark says, “but this is _way_ better than all three of those parties combined.” 

They sip their champagne in silence for a moment before a thought occurs to Mark. “Hey, do you know if they’re doing fireworks?” 

Dejun checks his phone. “I think so. I’m not sure they’re letting people in to go watch, but they should be launching from the harbor right about…now.” 

In the distance, the horizon lights up with color, fireworks exploding over the bay in a shower of light. 

“Alright,” Mark says, laughing in amazement. “Okay. This is ridiculous.” 

Dejun’s smile is brighter than the golden bursts of light. “You like it?” 

“It’s fantastic,” Mark says. “I just—I can’t believe it. Like, the whole thing. The pandemic, and the end of this year, and _you,_ on this rooftop that just _happens_ to be facing north.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” Mark says, shrugging. “I don’t know. It just feels like—something that couldn’t happen. I’m just…me, y’know?” 

“I know,” Dejun says quietly, affectionately. “That’s why I really like you.” 

It takes a couple of fireworks for the words to sink in. Blue, purple, white—Dejun’s expression is frozen in flashes of light while Mark digests what he’d just said. 

“You…like me?” 

“Oh, god,” Dejun says, clapping a hand over his mouth, “did I read this all wrong?” 

Mark is shaking his head vehemently before Dejun can even finish what he’s saying. “No, dude, no, I’m just— _huh?_ ” 

Dejun’s panic melts away, replaced by a soft, shy smile. “I like you.” 

“Okay, got it,” Mark says, his heart soaring in his chest. “I like you too.” 

“ _Good,_ ” Dejun breathes. “Can I kiss you now?” 

Mark nods and leans forward at the same time, and then he’s—he’s _kissing_ Dejun, and it’s not a dream or a hopeless fantasy, not something to be buried in doubt. Dejun’s mouth tastes like fruit and champagne and a hundred more wonderful things, his hand at Mark’s waist. Mark pulls away so he can breathe, and Dejun’s eyes meet his in the fractured darkness as the time between this year and the next ticks down. 

“Happy New Year, Mark,” Dejun says, and Mark can feel his smile when he leans in to kiss him again. 

“Happy New Year,” Mark echoes. Dejun kisses his cheek and winds his arms around Mark’s waist. 

And maybe this year has been a wreck. Maybe it’s been a shitshow. But standing here like this, with his cheek pressed against Dejun’s shoulder—Mark thinks that maybe the next year won’t be so bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> a note: i honestly have no idea what pandemic restrictions are like in the rest of the world but Australia seemed to be doing pretty well compared to, like, south korea or AMERICA so i set it there!! please forgive me I've never been to Sydney and i also haven't been to a party in about a billion years so let me have all the creative liberties ily !! 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/idoldimples)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/conclusions)


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